Lectric smooth (not)
In eighth grade I once overheard a conversation about shaving between two classmates during science. We were examining bacteria under microscopes on the back tables. The only thing I remember for sure is one of them rubbing his face with his hand, caressing the light airs that hadn’t even gained any coloration yet, saying, “I shave every day. You know, it grows faster the more you cut it.”
Here’s how I shave: I wet my face with hot water to open the pores, lather my skin with shaving cream, and run the razor under the steaming stream from the faucet, warming the edges of the blades so they cut easily. I usually shave with an upward stroke, starting on the right side of my neck and moving across until I’ve cleaned away all the hairs and cream to my jaw bone. Then I shave downward around my sideburns and upward again on my cheeks. My chin and the curve of my jar are tricky, so I attack those areas from all angles. I finish off by making sure the skin between my lip and nose is smooth and hairless. With cold water I wash off the remaining foam.
My shaving schedule is sporadic. I don’t shave every day, or every other day. I used to have a rule about shaving every third or fourth day, but it fell to the wayside in college when I had other things on my mind. Now I usually let my facial hair grow for a week before breaking out my Mach 3. (There’s an odd, quirky story of how I got my Mach 3, but let’s discuss that later.) When it begins to itch I know it’s time to shave.
When I was a kid I was worried I’d grow up and have a mustache. I thought it was something genetically born into a man, something they had to live with forever. A beard I could see — like one of those “I’m a grad student, so bow before your new god” beard — but not a mustache. It looked so…cheesy. It was like the mark of someone who shouldn’t be taken seriously.
Of course I grew up and learned growing a beard or mustache was a choice instead of a curse. There have been times when I’ve contemplated a beard, even letting my red whiskers grow for two weeks. But I knew it was only a temporary experiment. I like it best after a few days, when the hairs have passed the sprouting stage and are gaining a little length, making my face look a little rugged.
I wish I had Five O’Clock shadow. Since I shave at night before going to bed it’d be more like Seven A.M. Shadow. Sure, I might get tired of having to shave more often, but there’s just something about that dark, full cover of stubble I always wanted. It’s more manly, I guess. It’s the sign of a rough, hard day of work.
Here’s how I shave: I wet my face with hot water to open the pores, lather my skin with shaving cream, and run the razor under the steaming stream from the faucet, warming the edges of the blades so they cut easily. I usually shave with an upward stroke, starting on the right side of my neck and moving across until I’ve cleaned away all the hairs and cream to my jaw bone. Then I shave downward around my sideburns and upward again on my cheeks. My chin and the curve of my jar are tricky, so I attack those areas from all angles. I finish off by making sure the skin between my lip and nose is smooth and hairless. With cold water I wash off the remaining foam.
My shaving schedule is sporadic. I don’t shave every day, or every other day. I used to have a rule about shaving every third or fourth day, but it fell to the wayside in college when I had other things on my mind. Now I usually let my facial hair grow for a week before breaking out my Mach 3. (There’s an odd, quirky story of how I got my Mach 3, but let’s discuss that later.) When it begins to itch I know it’s time to shave.
When I was a kid I was worried I’d grow up and have a mustache. I thought it was something genetically born into a man, something they had to live with forever. A beard I could see — like one of those “I’m a grad student, so bow before your new god” beard — but not a mustache. It looked so…cheesy. It was like the mark of someone who shouldn’t be taken seriously.
Of course I grew up and learned growing a beard or mustache was a choice instead of a curse. There have been times when I’ve contemplated a beard, even letting my red whiskers grow for two weeks. But I knew it was only a temporary experiment. I like it best after a few days, when the hairs have passed the sprouting stage and are gaining a little length, making my face look a little rugged.
I wish I had Five O’Clock shadow. Since I shave at night before going to bed it’d be more like Seven A.M. Shadow. Sure, I might get tired of having to shave more often, but there’s just something about that dark, full cover of stubble I always wanted. It’s more manly, I guess. It’s the sign of a rough, hard day of work.
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